


a letter for you, a letter from me

by damnneovelvet



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Birthday, Established Relationship, Letters, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnneovelvet/pseuds/damnneovelvet
Summary: There is a horizon to break — to shatter like a bottle made of brittle glass; to snap like a fragile spine — and it is hazardous by all means to even imagine the ways this world would combust once there exists no limit, no veil to pull over our eyes.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	a letter for you, a letter from me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romulus_adhara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romulus_adhara/gifts).



> I know you've read this, and the initial note is a little too personal, so I'll keep it in the doc and put up an abridged version here.
> 
> I want you to know that you are powerful. Parts of this letter are from me to you, in a different context, but the word form of a feeling you evoke nonetheless.

Beloved John,

This isn't an ordinary letter. This is a declaration, an apology, and you know how much I like being dramatic when I have something I really need to say.

(I could have done this with the lyrics of a pop song, but I had a feeling I had to channel my inner Victorian man, too smitten by your ankles, to get my point across.)

//

It is the 8th of February. The subway ride home is blurry — the same ocean of heads jostle past him every day — and the only thing of note Johnny remembers on the short walk to his apartment is a massive birthday advertisement for an idol. If he were famous, would his face be printed all over the city too?

He doesn't have an answer, only has the warm pockets of his winter coat and a heavy bag slung across his shoulders. As he rounds into the complex and takes the elevator, alone with only his scratched reflections to accompany him, he looks at the time. It's past nine already.

Birthday eves, Johnny thinks, have changed over the years. In three hours, he'll have something to celebrate, but he wonders if he will have to take phone calls by himself, as hollow as the footsteps echoing in the tiled hallway.

As he quietly keys in the passcode, he thinks of all the birthdays he's spent in Korea. 

Neither is he the protagonist of a slice-of-life novel nor is he a character in an action-packed manga with heavy introspection. 

His life has been simple. Birthdays in college were all about drinking and rubbing cake into faces, then it was clubbing and once he met Mark, birthday sex became a thing. After becoming an actual, working adult they went out on dates, sometimes gathered with friends, called his parents and talked for hours till everyone felt happy exhaustion sinking in their bones.

Johnny likes it simple. 

He left behind grand dreams in a childhood he only remembers faintly, and Mark would chastise him for thinking this, but he's an ordinary man. Life is slow sometimes, and he's okay with it.

He toes off his shoes and drops his bag on top of his shoe rack. He lives alone, and apartments in Seoul are rarely huge enough to make anyone feel like this, but even with a single bedroom, Johnny feels lost. The 'welcome' doormat hasn't been dusted in months, his shoes are placed out of order and it's always cold when he crawls into this excuse of a safe-space after long days spent slogging at the company. 

He considers moving out. A smaller living room, maybe a tighter layout. Can old paint and cement hug a person? 

He sighs as he steps inside, readies himself for the chill that would seep in through socks and leave his feet cold — but it never comes. The floor is warm, and once he looks around, barely noticing that his coat is hanging by the door now, he finds light flooding through the kitchen door. 

Something flutters in his chest, and he doesn't have to look at the shoe rack again to know that Mark's snuck in tonight. He's smiling before he knows it. His cheeks hurt, still affected by the frigid air of the city, but it's alright. When he spots Mark's pastel hair bouncing — and the complex knot of an apron lying at the small of his back — he can't help biting his lips. If he keeps smiling like this, he fears he won't be able to frown ever again.

//

I've kept you waiting. 

I love you. I know what you wanted to ask me the other day, trust me. I've wanted that too.

I utter the same words you do under your breath when you think I'm not listening. I look at you the same way you look at my reflection in the mirror — I feel revered, traced with need. I'm sorry I told you that we should wait a little because I am eager too. I want to live with you too, turn your apartment into our apartment, have a place to call home and a person to kiss after a tiring day. 

I know you only wanted to live with me. I already hover around you more than I should. It's been years and it's understandable that not sharing a kitchen can make you feel lonely sometimes. Please trust me when I say that I ache, that I feel my ribcage break whenever I have to step out your front door. Not coming home to you is a pain. Living apart shouldn't be this sad. I know that moving in together is a milestone, but this isn't like any other relationship we have seen around us — we take things at our own pace, don't we? 

It's been so long. We've been together since we had the freedom to skip class and go on dates across town, now we're working adults with reality crushing us every step of the way. 

When I learnt you wanted to ask me to live with you, I asked you to wait because I have something for you in return, something that deserved an occasion like this. 

Can I end my answer with another question? 

//

"I made dinner today," Mark says, cheeks flushed from steam. He's been hovering over a pot of what suspiciously smells like kimchi stew for the better part of an hour, or at least that's what he claimed when Johnny tackled him with a back hug. 

Mark is proud of himself. There's a smugness to his expression Johnny hasn't seen in a while.

"It's either going to be really delicious or I'll have to tell my mom where I've hidden my will." Johnny laughs as his boyfriend — ah, that makes his stomach clench and feel fuzzy at the same time, even after six years of knowing each other — swats at his arms, always too harsh, but Johnny doesn't have the heart to tell him off.

"Go away, I'll eat by myself, right in front of you too," Mark murmurs before switching off the induction. He turns, still enveloped in Johnny's arms, and tiptoes to drop a peck to his lips. Soft, always soft.

"I thought you were busy tonight," Johnny says, eyes flitting about and finally settling on an electric switch in the distance.

"And I told you I'll make time for you," Mark answers. He knows what's coming next, reads it in the lines of Johnny's forehead, some new rendition of _you shouldn't have_ , or _you didn't need to_. The kitchen lights aren't enough to see when both their sights are set on a little heart-shaped dream that seems to be floating away.

Johnny opens his mouth to speak, but another kiss finds him, a little wet, too breathy, and he is quietened, arms holding on firmly.

"I'm not twenty, I can sort my priorities well. But, I have something for you." Mark says when he pulls back, his soles touching the ground again. As he looks up to meet Johnny's eyes, there's a shimmer in his own, "It's a letter. I left it on the dinner table. Don't, don't ask me why. Today is important to me, it really is, and I need you to know some… things. Yeah, you can read it after dinner, or even now, whenever, just—"

"Just not in front of you?"

"Mhm, I feel embarrassed already. Y'know what, you smell, so I'm going to fill the bathtub. How about that?" 

"Perfect, except I know I smell good," Of course he doesn't, but the way Mark's nose crinkles is affectionate. There's a soothing touch on his wrists as Johnny releases his hold on Mark, and there's a fleeting, shy smile before he's gone. 

Johnny stares at the stew pot — it's glass lid fogged up — and decides something is off. They've always been domestic. Ever since they started dating, it has been difficult to tell if they're actually college friends or if they've grown up together. There's an ease that comes with loving Mark, ease that makes him believe that everything in the world can be grounded and that everything can take flight if it wishes to, that there are wings hidden even for those who can't wear them.

But tonight, Mark isn't loud. He isn't giggling endlessly, he isn't huge square-shaped smiles and clumsy arms toppling over seasoning on the countertop. Mark Lee has a purpose today, and Johnny knows he'll get his answers in the letter.

When he picks it up a few minutes later — a single overhead light flickers to life — it feels dry under his fingers, the stretch of pale, lined paper filled with black ink. In the distance, he can hear water running. All for him. It makes his heartbeat stutter.

//

I know you worked so hard to make it perfect, but away from the intimacy of the space I only share with you, I did not have the strength to tell you what I am going to write today.

We have been in love for so long, as far as I can recall you've had hearts in your eyes and a quiver in your voice whenever you have turned to face me. However, as I write this, I feel that — and only if you still want to say those things to me — it is now the right time for me to give you my answer. 

I wonder if this is fair. I know you won't give me a dishonest answer because you are kind. You will understand my initial reluctance. (Because I know you, you're lovesick. For me, just as I am for you. I just think a warning needs to be given in case.)

I know you wouldn't hurt me knowingly. You wanted to live with me after all. There is no spite between us, the occasional negativity perhaps with how stressful work can be, but never spite. I will take whatever you want to say to me now with grace. I think I can make it through if your feelings for me have changed because I treasure you and your freedom of choice most. I only think, I still can't believe I will be able to. If you choose not to have me anymore, if you have been turned away by the uglier parts of me, I promise that you have the space to walk away. 

But if you choose to listen, thank you for staying. Thank you for being my boyfriend all these years.

(And I'm going to get serious now. For real.)

My love for you is astronomical. I cannot measure it, not in inches, not within nautical miles, and definitely not within the largest measurements known to mankind, because your existence is sacred. 

To me, you are heaven.

//

 _Fuck Mark Lee_ , Johnny sniffles. He's supposed to be a grown-up. He's supposed to be stronger than this, to be reduced to little tears streaming down his face is shameful but he can't help it. He drops the letter onto the table gently, afraid the ink will start running if he cries all over it. 

Mark isn't back yet — probably humming and choosing bath salts — and Johnny takes advantage of the situation to rub his face with the sleeve of his work shirt. 

He swallows thickly, takes in a deep breath and makes to get himself a glass of water. It's almost cathartic, looking at the glass filling up to the brim, just like him, at the verge of overflowing with the wetness of emotions he hasn't given himself time to process. He downs the glass in one go, careful once some water drips past his lips. 

He needs to see Mark, right now, and he rushes to the bathroom, not bothering to knock because the door is ajar. 

"Is it real?" Johnny asks, breathless even though his bathroom is barely a few feet away from where he'd been standing a minute ago.

Mark looks at him, eyes widening in surprise before there's a flurry of emotions crossing through them, and then he settles on a look somewhere between fond and impossible. He nods, grinning.

Without a moment's notice, Johnny tugs him closer and lowers his head to smush their lips together in a hasty kiss. Mark splutters as his grin melts away into something more familiar, fingers rushing to hold onto Johnny's collar, and then he responds, equally harsh, eyes falling closed.

This is all definitely real. The fabric beneath Johnny's palms, the heat of skin and by extension, so must the words he's still fumbling to understand. 

Mark steps back and pulls Johnny with him, closer to the edge of the tub. Their shirts fall to the floor quickly, discarded without fear of soiling them, and Mark takes a moment to simply stare at Johnny's face, breathing heavily through his mouth.

"You know I wouldn't lie to you, not if I can help it." 

This time, it's Johnny who nods, head reeling with thoughts of a future he imagined when he was younger, much more naïve, and deeply in love, just like he is today.

//

My gratitude for you is like a road paved in the darkest of skies with rainbows instead of asphalt. One colour then another; one section at a time. 

Paper evades ink when it comes to spelling heartfelt words I want to tell you, not because I don't have any, but because there are multitudes upon multitudes of layers hiding somewhere deep within my chest a warmth that only unravels under the gentlest touch of your palms. 

//

Mark shivers, even in the warmth of the tub, and his knees buckle as Johnny runs a palm over Mark's erection lightly. The water sloshes around them and spills onto the floor with their jerky movements, but they don't care. 

Johnny guides Mark closer, afraid that the water will rid his hands of lube, and continues feeling Mark when there's nothing in the bathroom but the sound of their breathing. Johnny rubs a careful finger across the tip of Mark's cock, playfully tugging at the foreskin, and keeps drawing circles at the base of the head with his thumb. He flicks past the folds of skin tenderly, unable to see clearly past the water. 

Mark holds onto his shoulder for dear life, mouth open in gasps and eyes closed tightly. 

His hair, damp in places and turning a dark shade of pink, brushes against Johnny's neck as Mark presses his forehead against his collarbone. Johnny continues rubbing and makes it a task to slowly massage every spot he knows sends Mark cross-eyed. His other hand settles to squeeze a milky thigh, smooth. Johnny wants to leave dozens of red marks blooming all over it.

"Hyung," Mark whispers, his hot breath sending shivers down Johnny's skin. He moves and tries to wrap a leg around Johnny's waist, but the tub is too small to keep going. He gives up, taking to lick at the skin he can reach with his tongue instead. He leaves behind thick trails of saliva. It makes Johnny’s breath hitch because Mark does _things_ to him, but rarely does he lose himself to pleasure entirely.

"Mark! Mark, I haven't washed up yet," Johnny reminds him in a hushed voice, "let me take care of you, and then we'll take it to bed once I'm clean, okay?"

//

No pen is mightier than the saccharin thickness that flows through my veins upon seeing your smile. The fears seizing my breath fade away, just how sunlights filters through clouds on snowy days to make everything all right again. Your laughter makes me want to break away from this ghastly shell they call skin. I want to be the one that steals the sun. There are universes uncharted, grounds craving the touch of life. There are expectations and visions, and responsibilities one has to shoulder to survive. I want to be the one to learn every wave and sear through the uncertainties tainting this world. 

You make me — a pawn in the grand scheme of things — believe I can do it all. In your arms, I feel powerful. The syllables of your name rolling off my tongue make me feel I can steal happiness for love, and not for the unquenchable pride that stirs at the centre of Earth.

//

They don't make it to the bed. Once the bath is drained and the shower rinses away all the dirt, all the soap and even the leftover hesitance Mark had brought over. The tiles are cold against his back, a sharp contrast from the heat of the water he'd been fondling Johnny under.

There's patience, because if there's anything they've built their relationship on it's a subtle calm that assures them of chances to communicate, to touch and to learn what they feel. Mark sucks at Johnny's earlobe, then there are fingers working him open, leaving him slick and eager.

Johnny fucks his tongue into Mark's mouth the same way he moves his hips — languid and slow. 

Even though it's slow, it's bruising. Mark licks at his lips, almost as if he'd been starved of touch, and grazes his teeth across them whenever he can. Johnny thrusts forward, intent on pressing against Mark's prostate every time. 

There's nothing but heat. With every movement, every thought leaves his head, only a blinding haze remains that sets his temples on fire. He moves to suckle at Mark's neck, right where he feels a fast pulse, and Mark. He's alive. He breathes and he keeps Johnny breathing, chests rubbing and Johnny doesn't realise how or when his fingers find their way to Mark's nipples, rolling. 

There are hands in his hair, nails raking against his scalp, and it's too much and too little simultaneously. He can't feel anything but Mark, tightening around him and refusing to let him go, head thrown back and exposing his neck — inviting Johnny to leave more hickies. Mark looks best when he's nearing orgasm, gritting his teeth, an image Johnny wants to keep in his mind forever.

He's always been sensitive and Mark's voice is faint in his ears, but he's certain that the moans, barely leaving his throat, are attempts to say his name. 

//

There is a horizon to break — to shatter like a bottle made of brittle glass; to snap like a fragile spine — and it is hazardous by all means to even imagine the ways this world would combust once there exists no limit, no veil to pull over our eyes. 

Is it a meticulously placed barrier to keep us from extending our hands and snatching what we want till our stomachs refuse to be filled and our throats keep burning with the acid that speaks of desire, or is it the silver lining we desperately kneel to God for — untouchable but dressed in the delicate fabric of hope?

//

"We should do more of that," Mark says against Johnny's lips, a fluffy towel in his hands as he pats his boyfriend's hair dry. 

"Shower sex is risky, the nerve you have to keep swaying me, Markie," Johnny says, enjoying the comfort. He loves being taken care of, and it is within Mark's nature to do for those he loves, knowingly or unknowingly. 

"Mhm, you're right," Mark rubs at the bites he left across Johnny's skin with a reverent look, "do you still want to have dinner? I can heat it after your mum calls. We can do some more of the… other kinds of eating before that. I like the way you taste, and I think I taste good too." His voice lowers, and then he splays a hand right where Johnny's body gives his affections away. 

Love is an understatement to them, because they're everything to each other, including the little heartbreaks, the bigger joys and every little road that can be traversed in between.

Johnny narrows his eyes playfully and Mark giggles, "Say that one more time, Lee, and I'll have no choice but to bite your nose." He gives in anyway.

//

We carry big dreams in our little bodies like those lifetimes of sadness riding on the coattails of a single, burnished speck of stardust. 

Tell me, why do we want what we want? Why does the end never fall in sight when we're hurtling towards that body of deep, endless truths day and night — without stopping, without sleeping, without any semblance of sanity clinging to the pores the speed drills open in my bones? 

All that blood we shed, all those fears we failed to conceal, do they slow down this fire-storming trajectory we have chosen for ourselves? My dreams are not the same as yours, but in both our worlds, we shred our inhibitions to the bare makings of red bricks and build a little home on that faraway hill together — because even beyond oblivion, I only see my hand in yours, and your hand in mine.

//

Early mornings often reduce Johnny to the drowsiness of wet cotton. Usually, the first thing he does is pat around the blanket for his phone, which is always by his pillow, and looks at the time before sending Mark a text saying he's woken up.

Sometimes, when Mark stays over, he makes it a point to lie down in silence, and to bask in the feeling of a body next to his, a body he loves and a soul he wants to be intertwined with like fragile stems in a flower crown. Those days, he's slightly more grateful for being alive. He exists just because he has to and that's enough because he might not be the greatest cog in the world's complicated machinery, but he is a part that fits in with Mark. They're good. They're good together, and for each other, and it's a miracle they find such completeness within the grooves of each other's skin that they rarely think of a life where they wouldn't fall together and kiss at the end of the day.

Today, however, is extra special. Johnny has more reason to be awake. Waking up to Mark is a privilege, it is one of the biggest comforts in his life, and he's never taking it for granted. His heart swells with love, threatening to come undone at the seams. He presses a light kiss to Mark's shoulder, then another to the moles visible to him because he can never hold back, and slips out of bed carefully. He's thankful for the heating, only pulling on a pair of sweatpants that had been hanging on his desk chair.

He slides open his sock drawer, giddy and still woozy, and looks for the old pair sunny yellow socks he keeps in here. To any other, it would seem weird. Even Mark doesn't understand why he still keeps a pair of nearly threadbare socks he never wears anymore. Johnny treasures them. And why wouldn't he, when they're the only physical reminder he has left of his first date with Mark?

He's a little sappy that way, blushing even though it would normally boost his confidence. He finds them and takes them out. It's a perfect fit.

//

I want to wish us an infinity like none seen before, for we are two ends of the same string burnt to melt into each other. But our string forms a circle, and we keep looping because there is no end to our madness. 

And there shall be no end. I want to kiss you before we fall off the last cliff awaiting us, simple mortals who envision lives of beauty — of more than we deserve. We may not deserve monuments built in honour of our passion, neither may we request the deities to grant us permission to linger between the living forever. But we do deserve softness. A life balanced between reality and our own terms. We can strive to stay and become part of each other so wholly not even a black hole swallow one without the other.

Will you accompany me until then? Until the moment we take our last breaths? (Will you be more than my boyfriend?)

Yours,

Mark Lee.

  
  
  
  
  


P.S. Should I write a tl;dr for this? I will smack you if you don't actually read the whole thing, I've spent a fucking lot of time on this. 

I have a feeling you won't say no, but I need you to know that you can if you're not ready for this. I will respect that. I just think it's been very long and if not now, then when? It's all or nothing, always has been, and I don't think that's changing anytime soon. In the morning, I'll ask you verbally.

But if you read this before I'm awake, and your answer is miraculously still yes, the box and receipt are in your sock drawer, right below that pair of yellow cotton you never seem able to get rid of. I never could figure out how thick your fingers are, so we can always go back and get the ring changed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Johnny says yes, of course, they move abroad a few years later, legally get married and even grow old to become the best neighbourhood grandpas together. 
> 
> I'm in my feels, what about it (╥﹏╥)
> 
> note: they have condomless sex because they maintain sexual hygiene and follow safe and healthy practices *sparkle emoji*
> 
> //
> 
> This is something I wasn't ready to write, because it reaches beyond my scope of storytelling, yet it was worth stepping past that self-drawn boundary. It's not the best, but it is about 4k words strung together with the hope that they'll convey something.
> 
> I know it hasn't been long, but you've been a much more real and honest friend than I've had in ages. Thank you for being exactly who I needed, thank you for always listening to me ramble and thank you for putting up with me despite my obvious social ineptitude. 
> 
> For as long as I will know you, I'm certain you will make me think and I'll come out a better person. I hope you do too. Also, just poke me or something if anything I ever say puts you off or feels weird. I do need the prodding at times. I owe the universe for this encounter. It's 1:0.
> 
> Happy Birthday! I hope you grow more amazing overnight.


End file.
